


The Definition of a Man

by Ladycat



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: Kissing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-12
Updated: 2014-02-12
Packaged: 2018-01-12 03:33:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1181390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladycat/pseuds/Ladycat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wesley had long ago acknowledged that to receive kisses, he needed to cultivate an interest in women.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Definition of a Man

Men don’t often kiss. It wasn’t that they had something against it, really, it was just that there were so many other, more worthwhile things their bodies could be doing instead. Things that urgent needs made undeniable. Wesley had long ago acknowledged that to receive kisses, he needed to cultivate an interest in women. As that had yet to happen for any serious length of time, Wesley had privately given up on kissing.

It wasn’t as if he really minded. Rough hands, so startlingly pale against chocolate skin, make Wesley gasp and ache and _want_. Just the sight of him, coming down the street with that oddly cheerful whistle was enough to send his heart racing. Wesley loved him. Truly loved him, knew it—and would give up kisses without qualm so long as he had Charles’ love.

Cordelia laughed at them often, particularly in the early morning when there was only Wesley to tease. Wesley bore it with grace, knowing that scathing critique was her way of showing approval and affection.

“And when am I going to get hand-holding, huh?” she demanded on morning, several weeks after he and Charles had tentatively decided that yes, they wanted this. Badly. “I mean, I know you do some of the hot’n’ heavy—”

“Cordelia!”

She raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow. “Please, Wes. I’m a grown up woman who understands the hotness of two tall, buff guys getting it on together. So on the fag-hag wagon, and what is _up_ with that phrase, huh? I mean, I’m willingly calling myself a hag.”

Wesley hastily cleared his throat and attempted to _stop_ blushing. “Was there a point, Cordelia?”

“Yes,” she snapped, arms folding as she hopped up onto the desk, the better to glare at him, of course. “I want hand-holding. I want Sunday walks in the park. Or, the pier, I guess, since the only park close to us is full of more drug-dealers than kids playing tag. I want vicarious romance!”

Well, so did he, actually, since vicariously was the only way he was probably going to get it. “Cordelia, I—”

Lips. Warm and soft, so full and lush that Wesley felt like he needed to learn how to kiss again. How to properly appreciate the careful dip and curve, the softer swells that cradled his own. He didn’t know when his face was cupped or when he ran the backs of his fingers over almost unnaturally smooth cheeks, only that there was suddenly more warmth against him. Wesley felt like he was flying, as if he’d finally found that moment of _yes_. Knowing without a doubt, without a shadow of hesitation, that he loved this man who kissed—who loved—him.

When they finally parted, Wesley dared to let his arms settle around a trim waist, pulling Gunn close to him—and flushing with pleasure when Gunn moved against him easily. Willingly. “I—that was—”

Cordelia’s giggles cut him off, but it was really the look on Gunn’s face that stole his breath away. “Yeah,” he said, looking smug and awed in an irresistible childlike combination. “Um. Yeah. You don’t, uh, mind that we do that?”

Giggles turned into loud guffaws, only partially muffled by a red-tipped hand. Wesley tuned out the laughter and focused on Gunn’s expression. “You thought I wouldn’t like that? I mean, kissing?”

“Well, you’re all English,” Gunn said. As if that explained everything—and, perhaps, it did. Certainly Wesley had been thinking of Gunn as too American to indulge...

“Mm,” was all he managed, though. He was too busy kissing Gunn again—and throwing a paper clip at Cordelia. She deserved it. Just because they were gay men who happened to enjoy kissing didn’t mean they needed a soundtrack of heaving sighs. That was just _too_ much!


End file.
